Fear My Spork
by The . L O S T . Paperclip
Summary: Stealth alone just doesn't cut it. If that's the case, then how did Foxface do it? Well, she had one more attribute that is widely lacked in Panem: Insanity. Most crumble under its weight, whereas she had embraced it and twisted it into something... fun.
1. Madness

_Another Foxface POV story, I'm sorry to say. It just wouldn't get out of my mind!! But this one is different, I think... If not, well, just ignore it. Please don't flame me! Fire is hot._

_Disclaimer__: I am not Suzanne Collins, therefore I do not own The Hunger Games or any of its characters. Shocking, I know._

_Reviews are greatly appreciated! I also like constructive criticism... My lone brain cell needs company. Truly, I didn't think I would publish this story. But I just started writing and, well... Here is the result of my twisted thoughts!  
_

**Chapter 1: Madness**

_Madness: The state of being mad; insanity._

_Senseless folly._

_Intense excitement or enthusiasm._

The above quality is highly lacking in most people of Panem. Those that are mad, are usually slow and have few mental capabilities. There are a select few, however, that have embraced the quality.

I was born with it. I had earned the reputation of being 'strange' in District 5 by the time I was nine, and at twelve, I had abandoned my name for one more fitting to my person, as I put it. No, Hazel Valentine was too pretty a name for me. So I chose my own.

Now I am known in my small circle of friends as Spork. They were all I could think about for a month, so I scrawled the word onto every item of clothing I owned. Then my mother put a tiny spork on a chain for me and wore it everywhere I went.

I can feel the cold metal on my neck now, as I sneak through the dark streets towards my friend's house. I broke the lock on her bedroom window last time I visited like this, so there was no problem getting in. But, to avoid being impolite, I merely tap on the window to wake her up.

"Nara!" I whisper. The window creaks open to reveal a short, rabbit-like shadow. Nara's chocolate pigtails were messy, poking out at odd angles, and giving her a very comical appearance. Her eyes were droopy with sleep.

"What is it now, Spork?" She asks tiredly.

I swing my legs onto the windowsill and sit there in a frog-like position. People think it's uncomfortable to sit like that, but really, it's quite relaxing. And I can get up at a second's notice. "I just wanted to wish you luck," I say, grinning.

Nara scowled. "But it's three in the morning," she says, irritated. "What do you _really_ want?"

I put my hands up innocently. "Okay, you caught me. I was actually hoping you could give me a bit of your chocolate to give to my little brother. It's his first reaping, and I want to cheer him up a bit." I also seem to be the only one in town that isn't fazed by the looming Hunger Games.

My reason for this is, what's the point in worrying? You either get chosen, or you don't. Nothing you do can change that. Unless someone volunteers, of course. But then that's their choice. I don't really care, because you never get out of this world alive, anyway.

Nara drags a palm down her face. "You couldn't have waited until sunrise at least?" She asks.

"But it's still morning," I counter.

Nara disappears into the darkness of her room. I hear a sigh as she re-emerges, holding a small bar of chocolate. She didn't care much about Noah, or even myself for that matter. She only does these things to get me out of her hair.

I take the chocolate gratefully and, with a small "Thanks," I fall backwards out of the window. I land on my hands and propel myself back onto my feet, then shove the bar into my pocket and start cartwheeling towards my house.

==#==

I am furiously trying to adjust the bow on my dress as I walk out the door and into the Square. My mother insists that the soft brown material compliments my eye colour, but I think it looks like something large and creepy took a dump on me. I _hate_ frilly dresses. Actually, I don't much like wearing dresses a all.

I wish I could wear my trousers, rather than this ugly thing. But, rules are rules. Of course, I would break the rules more often if it didn't mean a death sentence. So I just sit back and do as I'm told. I obey the Capitol like a mindless zombie. According to them, we commoners shouldn't be given minds of out own.

We sign in and enter the Square, my mother standing off to the side. My two brothers and I are herded into roped off areas containing out age groups. I give Noah a small reassuring wave as I take my place with the other fourteens. I ignore Sage, because he never does anything for me. Ever. He just stands sullenly in the area reserved for seventeen-year-olds, ghosting his way to the back.

The majority of children in any District do not get chosen at the reaping, so I'm not worried. It won't happen to me.

The clock strikes two and the mayor begins to make his speech. I zone out, staring into space and thinking of what to do for the rest of the day. It _is_ a public holiday, after all...

My attention is brought back to the stage as Kita Jenkins reaches into the glass sphere containing the names of the boy tributes. My eyes meet Noah's terrified ones and I smile. He has even less of a chance to be drawn than I do, because he has only one entry. I have three. Not many, compared to those in the poorest parts of the District. They have taken some tesserae for their families.

The small piece of paper is smoothed out on the podium, and Kita's high, whiny voice rings in the deadly silent air.

"This year's boy trubute is... Sage Valentine!" She announces cheerily.

I nearly fall over. _Sage!_ I think to myself. Maybe I heard wrong. Maybe Kita was lying. But when I turn, I see my brother mounting the stage. He turns to face the audience at Kita's instruction, and I can see his alarmed expression. My brother, competing in the Hunger Games. _No..._ Sure, I didn't like him much, but he was family! I can't watch him die for the Capitol's entertainment!

I am so caught up in thoughts of my brother's well being in the Games that I almost don't hear the woman on stage read out the girl's name. And now I wish I couldn't hear.

Right now, I wish I was never born.

"Interesting... Our female tribute is Hazel Valentine!"

I can't do this.

I don't want to compete in the Hunger Games.

But what I don't realise is that my feet had already started moving towards the stage. The audience parts to let me through, and at the end of that path I see my brother. Sage. His icy glare sends shivers down my spine. I return it, trying to swallow the lump in my throat. I'm already too numb to cry.

I can hear my mother give out an agonized wail, but I don't look back. I can't afford to show any emotion, because the tiniest tear in my eye will break me. I can't do this.

I step onto the stage slowly and am greeted by Kita. She looks from me to Sage, and claps joyously. "Ah, sibling rivalry at its best! You are related, I take it?" She asks.

Before I can say a word, Sage speaks. "No," He says coldly, meeting my eyes.

My eyes widen in fear. He is already trying to convince himself that we are not related. That we don't know each other. truly, we don't look related. My hair is a brilliant red while his is dark brown. His face looks like it had been carved in stone, and mine looked like a marshmallow. A _weak_ marshmallow. The only thing we had in common was our eyes; brown with flecks of gold. But it wasn't noticeable.

"Oh," Kita says, a little less enthusiastic than before. It sickens me how much these people would love to see a close pair kill each other. "Okay then. Now shake hands!" She orders happily.

Sage looks like he would rather stick needles in his eyes, but it goes unnoticed. Instead, he holds out a large hand. I take it and try to shake, but he doesn't budge. I try once more. Still nothing. I look up to meet my brother's hard gaze. He is making me look weak in front of the entire country by not allowing me to move his hand!

_Oh, no..._ I think, all the blood draining from my face. He isn't going to let me go if he catches me in the arena. He is going to treat me like he would any other tribute.

And there's nothing I can do. Sage is going to kill me.

I begin to smile.


	2. Breaking Point

_Thanks for all the reviews, everyone! It's nice to know that this idea isn't a completely lost cause :) By the way, feel free to take and improve upon this idea when I'm done. Just mention me if you do, kay?  
_

_And be warned: I have a spellcheck thingy, but I don't have a grammar checker. Excuse the mistakes or point them out and hope I'm not too lazy to fix them, whatever suits you. I know how poor grammar can turn someone off a good story._

_I probably will not update regularly, because I am working on a more-loved fic at the moment, and another that I should give a new chapter at least once a month. So this one may be in between; every few weeks a new chapter, maybe? Anyway, my mind can change. Reviews make the chapters come faster!!_

**Chapter 2: Breaking Point**

"Be good. Promise me you'll be good for your mother," I chant to my brother, Noah. He is curled up in my arms, sobbing, and I am being embraced by my mother in much the same way.

But I am still too numb for tears. I take his face in my hands. "Noah, I am your sister, and Sage is your brother. Don't forget that. Ever. Even when..." _When he tries to kill me._ I don't finish aloud, but he already knows. He may not see the depth of Sage's hate for me, but he knows it's there.

The Peacekeepers summon my family then, and my mother rises without a word. No goodbye; no 'good luck'. Nothing. She, too, is already letting me go. They all did, at one point. Noah was the only one that had it in his ten-year-old heart to forgive me...

I have no chance. I can't win.

But I still smile.

My mother drags Noah out of my grasp, and I let her. His tears are flowing freely now. "Don't make me . . . Spork! Spork, don't leave me! Don't make me go. Don't leave . . . Just come home! You and Sage need to come back . . . Come home . . . Please . . ."

Those words echo in my head like church bells, drowning out all else. _You and Sage need to come back._ "Noah, you're my baby brother, but I'm not going to lie to you. At least one of us is going to die in a matter of weeks, and nothing we can do will change that," I say, glaring directly at the Peacekeeper. I know that was a little rebellious of me to say but, somehow, that fact gives me the courage to bend the rules I so often obeyed. "Just bee good. And eat your chocolate; it would be a waste to let it melt."

I smile once more and then he's gone, and I know that I will never see him again.

I feel a bubble rise in my chest, boiling and fizzing, sending fire shooting through my veins. My smile widens and a vacant expression is secured on my face. Time passes quicker than I would like it to. Soon, or maybe hours from then, I am summoned from the small, lavish room I sit in.

Grinning again, I close my eyes and try to feel my way out of the room. Why? I couldn't tell you if I tried. I just do these things - it's so fun to confuse people.

I hear a heavy sigh coming from the Peacekeeper and race to the door, remembering where the furniture is and avoiding it easily. As I exit the room a light breeze tickles my skin, and I can't help buy sigh contently. The sun; the wind; the temperature; the smell of cotton fields just outside the town . . . it all feels so perfect.

But then Sage walks out of his room, and I am sucked violently back into reality. We lock gazes as we walk, the crowds screaming and cameras flashing around us, seemingly in slow motion. Every step we take is in sync; every blink leaves us open for attack from the other. It is all irrelevant. All that matters is the fact that we are about to be training hard to kill each other. The bubble sends more fire through my limbs, and I have to put a hand over my mouth to make what was stirring inside me stay.

But it is no use; I burst into laughter as we step onto the train, urged along by our shocked mentors.

==#==

I am so full that I feel like I am going to be sick before the replays show. I expect them to be nothing special; just a group of kids ranging from twelve to eighteen, of different shapes and sizes, and with different threat levels. I've seen it a hundred times before. I know I should be concerned. I should really be sizing up my competition. But I just feel like I should let it all go. I should let fate take me wherever it wishes.

I know I'm not going to win, no matter what I do. Oh, well. It's not like I was getting out of this world alive, anyhow.

But that feeling sheds when I see the first tribute. The male from District 1; Tobias Destry. There is something familiar about him...

Sage stiffens in his seat across from me, and all the blood drains from my face as I recognise the boy.

Tobias Destry. _Bane Destry._ His little brother, it must be. The one that killed her, and _very_ brutally... The one that tore my family apart.

==#==

_The name rings in the deadly silent air. Not a person moved; not even the owner of that name. She stood there as the shock set in, ice taking root in her chest and freezing her limbs._

_Then another sound joined the silent chorus; low, clear, and determined. "I volunteer."_

_"DAWN, NO!" The voice's brother, her twin, followed closely. She shook her head, approaching the stage. The smaller girl, whose name was called - only twelve at the time - grabbed at her sister's arm._

_"Dawn . . ." she hesitated before saying any more._

_"Hazel, I have to do this. You understand, right?"_

_And the girl did know. She felt the same way about her youngest brother, and she would do anything to save him. His disagreement would get them nowhere, as would her disagreement to her older sister. So Hazel let go of Dawn's sleeve, and let her compete in the Hunger Games in her place._

_She heard sobbing from in front of her; and stood on her toes to see who it was._

_That was the first and last time she had ever seen Sage cry._

_-X-_

_"Bane... Why?" Blood stained her lips as she attempted to fathom why her 'ally' had murdered her. She let out a heavy breath and the screen focused on the joyous faces of the Careers, cheering and clapping the boy on the back as he rose, bloody knife in hand. Bane Destry. He had faked an alliance with her; then killed her in her sleep . . . But she woke up just as Bane carved his initials in her throat. It was a horrible way to die._

_Those were the last words Hazel heard her sister say. Sobs erupted from her throat, tearing her insides apart. Sage looked over from the corner he was standing in; since Dawn volunteered, he had become less and less, acting like a ghost wherever he went. He hadn't spoken in days._

_"You could have stopped her. All you had to do was say no," he whispered hoarsely from the other side of the room. The pain in his eyes was almost tangible - he could surely feel his twin dying as he stood there, unmoving._

_Their mother left the screen to stand with him, leaving Noah, ten years old, standing in between the two sides. A river of coldness washed between them, leaving Hazel on her own._

_She could have told Dawn not to go, and it truly would have made a difference. They would have been happy again. Dawn would have been with them at home that very moment._

_And Hazel wouldn't._

==#==

The voice of our male mentor, Cy, cuts through my memories, and I am glad for the distraction.

"Still here," He says patiently.

"I can tell," I retort.

"I meant _you_."

"Oh. Well, obviously I am." Cy isn't much older than I am, only having won the games two years ago at age fourteen. My age. But that isn't going to help me in the slightest; Cy had strength, he had strategy, and he had sponsors. I have none of those attributes and I have no special talents that could get me sponsors.

He sighs. "Sage left a while ago, after requesting you be coached separately. You didn't object, so I let him go. You're okay with that?"

"Yup." A stupid grin obscures my face. "That's perfect."

"Okay," he says uncertainly, seeming a little unnerved by my expression. "Did you see _any_ of the replay?"

I shake my head happily. "My sister's murderer's brother is the boy from District 1. I tuned out after that," I say.

Cy frowns. "You should really put a little more thought into strategy. Size up your opponents. I don't want to lose six in a row," he says, a hint of sorrow in his voice.

I stand up slowly. "I'm sorry, but that's the way the Games work." Then I leave him to his steadily increasing depression. I giggle as I jump the carriages, to the one holding my temporry bedroom, and wait. I wait impatiently for the night to end and the sun to rise, and again, and again.

I can't wait to enter the Hunger Games, where I will surely meet my end. But I won't go down without a fight . . . because there is one particular fight I can't wait to win. The others are irrelevant . . . my death is irrelevant.

I will kill Tobias Destry.

_I can do this._


End file.
